


Magic

by hito_ritabi



Series: lingEr [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Chance Meetings, First Meetings, M/M, Meteorfall, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hito_ritabi/pseuds/hito_ritabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Currently a wip that I have several little shorts for involving a Shooting Star Celestial being and the young man who found him on earth aka (Terra).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic

Hogwarts or magic

Raising his eyes up, Cyril looked toward the sky. It was a dark blanket of navy, with speckles of stars of various colors, red, blue, white, yellow, lighting up the patches. Down to the south and stretching up toward the north-west ran a cluster of stars, as if it were a road, that gave off a misty-whiter light than the rest. It was one of the many bands their galaxy had, and it protected them from evils, or so the legends proclaimed.

 

The band, known as the Celestial Belt was taken from the goddess Seles's white wavy hair when she was a little girl, and it was stretched out to create a circle around their little realm. Supposedly, when the strand of hair was taken from her brow, Seles aged from being a youth to a beautiful mistress, with gowns adorned of white mist and ashy lightness. Her form was just barely visible in the garbs, but it was seen through the light fabrics as she walked, her gown even hiding her feet. By this transformation, she was renamed for her new appearance demanded such; she was called Hydros, the goddess of the oldest ideas and the mother of time and compulsion.

 

Looking back to the fire before him, now just a puffing smoke of charcoal and hot embers, Cyril thought about the night before he had found Hiero. It was still and quiet like tonight, with no rustling of the trees, and the air was crisp from the rain earlier in the day. From his small cottage at the forest's edge, a distance from the village below, he could see the night's sky. A star that had been very dim and very hard to see had suddenly grown brighter. Surely, he thought, this is what stars look like when they're dying- they brighten up, as if to puff up and make themselves appear larger to a threatening force. However, as the star became larger, almost enveloping the stars around it, Cyril realized it wasn't growing bigger- it was suddenly hurtling toward his planet.

 

Fearful, Cyril had run down to warn the village in a panic. The villagers were outside screaming and shouting, no one quite sure what to do. They huddled together in the cathedral in the dark. At the podium stood a man in white robes, disheveled from his hurriedly putting them on, with a candle in his hand. The man spoke prayers of protection to them, the villagers mumbling them to themselves to remain safe.

 

“May you pass on in peace, and bear us no ill will.” He said, “May your light burn bright, but not scorch our soil.”

 

A woman huddling next to Cyril was mumbling to herself, “Spirit pass, spirit pass, no death, don't kill anyone, no death. I beg, I beg. Spirit pass,” and she'd begin again.

 

A man just farther away, hugging his two little boys close to his chest was crying, whispering to them, “Evil shall not touch you. Evil shall not enter here.”

 

The whole night was filled with prayers of hope, peace and protection. No one was sure what would happen. In the early dawn, with most of the people exhausted and sleeping, Cyril shifted out from underneath a burly man's body, a farmer that lived just near him. Easing out of the crowd of people was difficult, but Cyril made his way to the door. Curious, he opened it and went through. The land was there, a thick cool fog hung in the air. The priest was standing just a few steps away outside, chanting: “Peaceful day, blessed are we.”

 

Passing him by, Cyril headed toward the fountain at the center of the village, a few doors away. Before stepping out into the clearing, he stopped still. Standing in the fountain was a figure, a pale young man with hair as white as snow that seemed to glisten like starlight. His robes of silken white were ashen and damp, sticking to his figure, showing his pale skin. He had radiant blue eyes, that reminded Cyril of a cloudy sky because their blue looked so stormy. The boy- for he looked quite young- was loosening a net that had blown into the fountain and releasing a panicked duckling. The duckling swam free, jumping up to the ledge of the stone, and then hopped down to it's mother and family that were waiting just outside.

 

That was the moment Cyril truly met Hiero. He stepped forward, his shoes crinkling the dirt beneath them. Hearing the noise, the boy looked up at him, slowly and calmly, as if he knew nothing of fear or danger.

 

Cyril stopped just next to the fountain's edge, holding out his hand, “Let me help you.”

 

Easily enough, the boy took the hand and stepped out onto the dirt.


End file.
